


Yellow

by zillybooradley



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, Developing Relationship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, PTSD, Recovery, Slurs, Trichotillomania
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillybooradley/pseuds/zillybooradley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert was the victim of a horrendous attack.<br/>After switching schools, he's forced to deal with his trauma and anxiety alone - with the company of an online friend who refuses to reveal his identity to John.<br/>When they meet, neither of them know what to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic about anxiety. If depictions of panic attacks, flashbacks, etc. trigger or upset you, do not read this. 
> 
> The violent act itself is not described in a graphic way. It is simply a short list of injuries and a slightly graphic detail about one specific act of hatred.

You have this thing where you don't talk to people with blond hair.

It isn't like you're racist against people who have more fun. You're sure they find their hair color quite nice. Pleasant, even.

The color reminds you of them, though. It reminds you of how pale they were, even in the dark, and how light and yellow their hair was. 

You hate yellow.

Yellow makes you think of red and red makes you think of blood and blood makes you think of five months ago. 

You hate thinking about five months ago.

So you rip the hair off your arms, strand by strand, so that the minimal pain will distract you from your thoughts. 

It doesn't actually hurt much. Your arms aren't very sensitive. 

It's more the sensation that helps than anything.

You are running out of hair to pull. 

\--

People used to talk about you, spread rumors about what a fucking fairy you were, steal your stuff and leave rude notes in your locker, but it was okay.

Kids are always going to be cruel, and as long as you ignore them, it'll be fine. That's what you told yourself. Besides, you had a few close friends who helped and they got picked on, too. It wasn't so bad. 

When you were sixteen, you got a boyfriend. 

He had pretty hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair and he was much taller than you. He was on the varsity football team even though he was just a junior. He was really, really cool, and he thought you were just as amazing. 

For five months, he was your everything. 

His friends couldn't know. His friends didn't know he was talking to you at all. You were... in different social circles. It was alright, though. He kept some of the bullies at bay and he was kind to you.

You gave him head for the first time on your seventeenth birthday. Using his cell phone, he took pictures of your mouth around his dick. He murmured things to you, petting your hair and moaning. "It's just like being blown by a girl." 

You were stupid and you should've known and it's stupid and you're stupid. 

His phone got stolen. Someone sent the picture of you sucking him off to his friends and everyone had that fucking picture and he said it was special and he said you were special and suddenly it all came crumbling down.

The note in your locker read 

"babe,  
meet me under the bleachers in E section after school, i wanna see you.  
\- aaron"

It looked like his handwriting, and you two hung out there all the time. As far as you were concerned, everything was fine. 

At this point, you didn't know about the picture. You didn't know about how much his football jock friends hated you for turning their friend into a 'fag', and you didn't know that your boyfriend was helping them get you. 

"It was a joke, our relationship, I just wanted to fuck with you and it got out of hand." He said later, visibly shaking as he visited you in the hospital. 

His friends broke your nose and three of your ribs and they scratched the word 'faggot' into your chest with a pocketknife. They held you down and spat on you and stomped on your hand until it broke, taking months of physical therapy to heal. You still wear a brace. "Your gay little band class is gonna miss your piano playing, fairyboy." They laughed, short blond hair luminous in the shade of the bleachers. 

They left you there to die but someone found you. You'd been there, passed out and motionless, for three hours. Two girls, a couple, looking for a place to spend some time alone stumbled upon your near-lifeless body. 

Both of them recognized your now battered face from the cell phone picture and they called 911, the dark haired girl cradling your head in her lap. One of them, the only blonde person you talk to now, was your friend Rose. "I didn't know." She whispered to you as you opened your eyes, her secret girlfriend petting your hair. 

You smiled weakly. "Neither did I."

It took a month and a half of living in a hospital for your body to heal. The word on your chest remains, a thick, ugly, scarred reminder of what you are. 

_Faggot._

You switched schools after that, leaving Rose, Kanaya and Aaron on their own. You heard from Rose that your ex got a girl pregnant and they both dropped out.

Karma. 

The four boys that put you in a coma were arrested, then let out on bail. They were only seventeen, and couldn't be held for any longer.

If you ever see them again, you've decided, you're going to kill them. You aren't a violent person by nature. If anything, your trauma made you more docile. If you could, you'd spend every minute of your day laying under the covers texting your best friend.

You've never met your best friend and you have no idea what he looks like, but he goes to your school. He says he's too nervous to meet you in person yet. He slipped his phone number in your locker along with a copy of his school ID, name and picture blacked out to prove that he's a student and not some creep. 

Honestly, you don't trust him. It's nothing personal, you're just hesitant to trust anyone. 

You call him Dee because of his initials, D.S. That's what he signs all his letters with. He calls you Bluejay, because of your text color and your name. 

You desperately want to meet him, but it also terrifies you.

There's a blond boy in your English class who always stares at your chest like he knows about your scar. His dark sunglasses hide his eyes, so you don't know where exactly he's looking, but it still scares you. You can't help but worry that he went to your old school, that he's seen the news story about the beat up gay boy, that he was sent the cell phone picture, too. What if he's here to get you?

But then Dee texts you to say good morning, you look cute today, and you feel better.

He's so kind to you, and he's always there to make you laugh and comfort you. He makes you feel safe, almost, even when you're in class and the boy is staring at you a little too much. 

Sometimes, the boy almost looks sad. 

If his hair was darker you'd probably want to be his friend.

\--

It's your senior year. You've been at this school for two months - the month at the end of last year, and this month, September. Usually, you eat lunch in the library. The blond boy sits outside the library window and sometimes you catch him looking at you through the glass. It bothers you. As long as he stays outside, though, you'll be okay. 

Thank god the librarian has black hair like you. 

One day, the boy comes into the library and sits down across from you. 

You do not move.

Maybe if you don't move they'll stop hitting you maybe if you stay still they won't cut you again be good be good and they won't hurt you be nice tell them to stop don't scream don't try and run we'll catch you we're stronger than you are, faggot, and we'll kill you we'll kill you

"Hi." 

His voice is soft and a little nervous and you want to text Dee, you want to be safe, he makes you feel safe,

"My name is Dave. I'm new. You are too, right?" 

You don't reply.

"I heard you don't talk to us blondes."

You shut your eyes, the old 'if you can't see them, they can't see you' trick. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

Yes he is, you think, he's gonna hurt me and he's gonna make me want to die and he can't be trusted, nobody can be trusted except Rose, maybe Dee, too, but only maybe, I don't want this, you think, I need him to go away,

"Bluejay?"

If it was possible for you to freeze even more, that's what you're doing. Your body is numb and cold and you can't breathe, you can't breathe, you can't breathe, you look at him and his eyebrows are worried and he's so lovely and terrifying and he's your Dee, your Dee, and it's too much and you're so scared and so happy and your heart races and you shake and cry and sob and 

And you don't realize that you're curled up on the library carpet, causing Dave and the librarian to rush over and call the nurse for help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ==> John: wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some people say that they enjoy this more than my other fic, which I appreciate a lot! I'm much happier writing in this style, and as the chapters are more loose and free form, I'll be updating more quickly.

"Mr. Egbert? Hi, this is Anna Parke from the Liberty High nurse's office."  
"No, no, John's fine. He had a bit of a dizzy spell, I believe?"  
"Oh, well. I apologize, I didn't know about his condition."  
"Again, sir, I'm very sorry. It won't happen again. I'll be sure to put this in his file..."  
"Oh. It's already there, I -"  
"Please don't shout, sir, I assure you that your child's well-being is of the utmost importance to us."  
"Yes, it's alright. You can come pick him up anytime."  
"Thank you."

Dad always gets so angry when they move you. Really, the best way to react when you have an attack is just for people to leave you alone and help you to a quiet, safe place. Sure, you passed out this time - but you would've been better off if they'd just let you stay on the floor. It was surprisingly comfortable. 

It didn't help that the school nurse has pale blonde hair. When you saw her standing over you, your heart stopped. It was only when she stepped away from the light that your body stilled and you realized you were safe.

As far as you're concerned, though, you are never safe. You won't be safe until they're dead.

Or until you're dead.

It isn't like you want to kill yourself or anything. That would mean they win, they beat you, they hurt you so bad that you couldn't take it anymore. 

You aren't going to let them win. Not now, not ever.

You still have to look at the ugly scars they left whenever you take off your shirt. Your hand still aches and throbs when you try to play complex pieces. That is, perhaps, what hurts the most. Before the attack, you could play almost anything. People called you a prodigy. It was really great, having even one talent that people deemed cool or useful. That one skill made a world of difference to you.

It gave you a reason to hang on.

Your hands hurt terribly when you try to play. Typing is hard, too, so you usually use that swipe thing on your smartphone. 

Thank god you have a doctor's note to get out of note taking. That blond boy, the one who always stares at you, used to give you his notes.

Suddenly, you wake and remember why you're here. Dee. You met Dee. He's real, not just some creep trying to trick you. He's real and he was here and now you don't know where he is and - 

"Oh, John! You're awake! Your father will be here soon to come fetch you. Erm, by the way, I'm sorry for moving yo-" You cut her off. "It's fine. I'm fine." Your voice is harsher than you meant it to be, but she sort of deserves it. Goddamn blondes.

(...You might be a little racist. Just a little. That is, if 'blond' is a race.)

(Which it isn't.)

"Where's my friend?" You wring your hands, wincing as one of your joints becomes sore. All you want right now is to text Dee, but you keep reminding yourself that Dee is Dave and Dave is blond. It's so stupid how terrified of him you are. He's just some kid, a really nice, sweet kid who likes you and thinks you're cool. He's a friend, right? A friend. Not one of those boys, not one of the kids who beat you so bad you almost didn't wake up.

_sometimes you wish you hadn't woken up at all_

The nurse tells you that Dave is in the other room, waiting for you. Shall she go get him? Yes, she should. Should, shall, whatever.

He comes in and sits on a chair next to your cot and he looks horribly nervous. If this really is Dee, he knows a bit about the attack and he knows that you panic a lot. He'd always text you during panic attacks, soothing you and helping you down off the metaphorical ledge. 

"Hey." Finally, he speaks, and god his voice is just as soothing as his text. How can he be so relaxing? His hair is yellow as the nasty runny yolk of an egg that you undercooked and you should hate it, you should hate it, but you don't hate anything about him.

Slowly, you pat the spot next to you and motion for him to sit. He does, and you immediately take his hand and squeeze it. In his letters, he always said that he wanted to hold your hand. If this is really Dee, he'll squeeze back without hesitation.

Dave squeezes back, putting his other hand on yours and practically hugging your sore fingers with his own. 

You haven't let anyone hug or touch you since the attack. This is the closest you've come to an embrace in _months_. Before, when you imagined people touching you, you imagined that it would hurt. After all, the last touches you remember were done with the help of a blade and a fist.

_several fists and several feet and knees and my eyes my eyes stop please no no no not my hands please stop i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry please please i'm sorry no_

You squeeze his hand harder, your breathing becoming shallow and labored. 

"John? John, Blue, Bluejay, c'mon, it's okay. I'm here, it's me, I'm sorry, I shoulda said somethin' earlier, but I knew you'd be scared of me," Dee sounds so nervous, so worried and scared. It's almost like how your dad acts sometimes, but it's different. Your dad is like a papa bear or something, getting irrationally angry when anyone hurts or comes close to hurting you. 

_he didn't used to be like this he was so happy he was so sad about mama and then he got happy again and you ruined everything you ruined everything_

It's like Dave can tell that your mind is wandering and going to a dark place, a place full of fear and loneliness and regret and self-hatred, because he shakes your arm slightly. 

You see out of the corner of your eye that he's shuffling in his backpack until he eventually pulls out a grey baseball cap, putting it on his head and stuffing his yellow hair inside. Strands still show, little pieces of blond, but it's a lot better. A weight is removed from your chest and one of the bricks in the wall around your heart crumbles away.

Just one. Just one brick. 

That's still more than anyone else could get rid of. Even your therapist can't do what Dee's doing. 

After what feels like an eternity to the both of you, (but is really about twenty minutes of slow silence) you speak.

"Dee?" 

While it was harsh and unforgiving before, your voice is now soft and hesitant. Dee smiles. 

"Yeah, Blue. That's me."

You rest your head on his shoulder and he asks if he can hold you and you nod.


	3. Chapter 3

The two of you sit there for a while, you resting your head on his shoulder and trying to ignore the yellow haired head resting on your skull. It isn't Dave that you dislike, it's his hair color. 

The thing about trust is that it takes a lifetime to build and a moment to break. You haven't known Dee for a lifetime yet. There's a good chance that you'll trust him before then, but you can't be sure. 

It'd help if he dyed his hair, but you'd never ask that of him. Unlike your attackers, his hair is almost white in color and much more fine. Slowly, you reach your hand up and touch the hair on the back of his neck. He shivers, surprised by the sudden touch, causing you to jolt away in fear. Sudden movements, loud noises, knives, bleachers, blood, bruises, and blond hair are all things that trigger you. You cower at the corner of the bed, and, realizing his mistake, Dee crouches in front of you on the floor. 

His hat falls off as he moves and when you open your eyes, his hair is illuminated under the fluorescent lights like an angel. It isn't blond anymore, but instead a milky, glowing white. 

You reach out cautiously, as if his hair is going to bite you, and you pet the top of his head. 

It's so soft.

_soft like your bunny hold the bunny john it's okay you're okay wake up john wake up breathe john soft soft soft please wake up here's your bunny safe soft safe safe safe_

There's something incredibly comforting about touching him. He looks like an angel like this, humble and scared and anxious, and you just want him to hold you.

He keeps his head lowered, nearly purring as you run your fingers through his pretty ~~blond~~ white hair. After a moment, he quietly asks if he can stand and you say yes. 

Dee stands only to sit back down again, this time laying on the cot and motioning for you to join him. You do, allowing him to wrap his arms around you in a safe, comforting way. "This alright, blue?" He murmurs, hands light on your body as if he's afraid to break you. "Yeah, Dee." The voice that comes from your throat is not the same voice you were using before. It isn't scared or angry, not filled with nerves _or_ distrust for the first time in a while. It's nice. It's obvious that he can tell, because he holds you a little tighter.

You and Dave used to flirt a lot, back before you 'knew' each other. You wonder if that was real or if he was just flattering you because he knew how much you needed it. Part of you wants to ask, but you're afraid. 

You don't want him to find out that you're gay, even though (unbeknownst to you) it's glaringly obvious. It's not like that's a bad thing, but to you, being gay is a death sentence. It almost was, once, and you're terrified of anything like that happening again.

Earlier, you'd been so distracted by his hair that you weren't able to even notice the rest of his features. He wears aviators all the time, practically non-stop. His nose is pointy, but not obnoxious - it just makes him looks like a pixie or something. He's long and slender, but quite muscular and obviously toned.

Honestly, he's really hot. You hadn't noticed before, but Dee's gorgeous. 

You turn around, switching cuddle positions so you're facing him instead of acting as the little spoon. You are, however, still quite little. He looks you over for a moment as if he's studying you and trying to read your thoughts, and apparently he does so with incredible accuracy. 

He speaks, shy and scared. "Can I kiss you?" 

You nod yes. It's a short, chaste kiss that doesn't feel like passion or lust or sex. The kiss makes you feel safe and happy and wanted in all the right ways. He laughs afterward, unsure of whether or not he did okay, and you smile. 

"For a minute there I thought, like, you were gonna say the flirting was a joke." You're smiling, but that was a genuine fear. He just shakes his head, petting your hair. "I dunno what happened to make you so scared of people, but I'm gonna keep you safe n' happy for as long as I can." 

He's slowly gaining your trust and you can't tell if that's a good thing or a catastrophe.

Part of you thinks that this can't be real, that he must be fucking with you. Nobody would be this kind to someone like you.

_fag fairy slut cocksucker you're such a fucking whore die die die FAGGOT_

The words in your head hurt and you hold your skull in your hands. Dee notices quickly, remembering that this was how you acted earlier, when he moved suddenly, or before that, when he said your special nickname. He knows that this is a panic move, an action that's meant to stop the invisible, incurable ache in your brain. 

He holds you close, moving one of the hands that's fixed to your scalp over to his heart. "You're alive, you're safe. I'm alive, I'm safe. We're alive, we're safe." His heartbeat soothes you, reminds you that he isn't another dream of a knight in shining armor. 

He's your angel, your savior, and when your dad comes to pick you up and take you away from him your heart sinks. 

You ask him if your new friend can come over and he pulls you aside as if to see if you're being held hostage. He asks a myriad of questions about Dave - where he lives (E Street) how old he is (my age, Dad, he's seventeen) where you met him (on my first day, but he and I didn't meet in person till now) and why you haven't spoken about him before (I did, Dad, I just called him 'Dee' before) is this the boy you have a crush on - he says this a little too loudly and Dave laughs - oh my god, Dad, shh!) 

After he's embarrassed you to his heart's content, Dave texts his brother to let him know where he'll be. 

The smile your dad wears on the car ride home almost makes you feel like everything is okay again. 

In a way, it is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no better icebreaker than cuddling and laughing at MySpace.

It's amazing how much you can learn about someone simply by letting them hold you.

His skin is unusually warm, a contrast to your naturally low temperature. His arms are long and lanky, but muscular and strong. 

You sit in his lap and he holds you, your back pressed up against his chest as he rests against the headboard of your bed. Laptop resting in front of you, the two of you laugh at each other's old MySpace pages. 

You spend a good ten minutes laughing your ass off about his MySpace pseudonym - D@VESP@IR - which he said was really cool at the time. "I thought I was like, the saddest, most emo kid ever. Hence the shitty 'despair' pun. Wanna know why I was so sad?" 

You say yes.

"Bro took away my Xbox for a month. He caught me smoking weed and I got grounded. That shit was nasty, though, and getting my stuff taken away was like a way more intense version of 'Scared Straight'." 

You laugh and point to a picture of Dave with bright pink hair. It's all fluffed up like one of the douchebags from Blood on the Dance Floor, and he has what look to be red color contacts in. "Holy shit, Dee. Your fucking _hair_!" Cackling, you look over at him and kiss him on the cheek. He elbows you in the ribs playfully, and you lean back against him. 

He's blushing and you feel a little bad for teasing him, so you switch to compliment mode. "Those contacts are actually really neat, though. They look totally real! Where'd you get them?" 

He stills. "Nowhere. They're, uh. My real eyes." Dee looks really uncomfortable and you almost think he's serious. "Dude, you can't prank me. I'm the pranking _master_." With that, you turn and tug off his shades.

Red.

His eyes are red. Really, really red. Not just a slightly warm-hued hazel, but straight up crimson.

They're gorgeous.

Your heart jumps and you hold his face on your hands like a specimen a scientist is observing. You look at the light circles under his eyes that reveal a lack of sleep, his light, long eyelashes and his big irises. He's so fucking pretty you can hardly stand it. For a while, you just stare - then he pulls away and covers his face in his hands. 

"I'm a fucking freak. Fuck, Blue, I wear the shades for a reason. They stay on for a fucking reason." 

At first you thought he was angry, but now you know that he's just scared. You put a hand on his shoulder and pull him close to you, kissing him right on the lips.

"Stupid, you're gorgeous. Your eyes are pretty as fuck, okay? Seriously. It's a little ridiculous how lovely you are. You look like some shoujo heroine's boyfriend." 

Dave gets quiet for a moment, staring you down like he's about to fight you. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed, and he looks deep in thought. Finally, he smirks, looking like he's just come up with the best joke ever.

"Thought I already was."

You tackle him down and the two of you roughhouse for while, making you laugh more than you have in _years_. He eventually lands on top of you, but there's none of that stereotypical sexual tension. Dave just flops on top of you and he hugs you hard, petting your hair. 

"If I dyed my hair, would you like me more?"

For some reason, him saying that breaks your heart. 

Maybe because the answer is yes.

"It's not _you_ that I don't like. I mean, shit, Dee. You're kind of really amazing. It's just..." He stands up suddenly, going to his backpack and grabbing the baseball cap again. "Better?" Slowly, you nod. 

"Better." 

He returns to your side and puts an arm around you. "You ever gonna tell me why?" The question makes you think, that's for sure. You've never told anyone. The only people who knew are the people who found out from the doctors, family and the people who read the papers. Telling Dave sounds terrifying. Sure, he told you about his weird defect. His is pretty, though, and natural. It's not his fault.

Your defect is your fault.

_all you fault you fucking slut you were asking for this putting yourself out there like that i bet you sent the fucking picture yourself you faggot_

You look up at him, eyes wide with fear. Without hesitation, he wraps you tightly to him. "Sorry, sorry, you're okay, you're okay," He murmurs this like a sacred chant. "You're okay, don't worry about it Bluejay, it's cool, it's fine, you're fine,"

You cuddle up to him, shaking slightly as you wonder if this feeling is ever going to go away.

You just want to be able to live a normal life but you can't, you fucking can't, you're useless and fucked up and broken. Why does he even want to be _near_ you? He's just going to have to take care of you all the damn time, holding you when you're having an attack and petting your hair as you sleep off the worry. 

If he ever sleeps over, he'll be woken up by your screaming. Nearly every night you have. nightmares, flashbacks that have your dad running to your side with a glass of water and a box of tissues. 

"Why are you staying?" You ask, finally calm enough to speak. "You already knew how fucked up I was from my manic texting and shit." 

He sighs, pulling you closer to him. He smells nice, you think. Warm. "Cause I like you. That's all. I like you an' I wanna help you get better."

"What if I _don't_ get better?"

"Ain't a problem. You're nice to chill with now. Even if you still get all scared sometimes, most of the time you're gonna be fun to be around." 

Fun to be around? You? Is he kidding? You smirk at him, obviously doubtful that he's telling the truth.

"What, you don't believe me? I showed you - or at least, didn't kick my ass when you _made_ me show you - my eyes. That takes some serious trust."

"Course, it helps that you thought they were pretty." You laugh and poke him in the chest. "So you're serious? You're not gonna leave if I don't get better?" Dee shakes his head and pokes you right back. "Nah. Not unless you do somethin' scary, like try an' kill my cat or something."

"You have a cat?"

"...Nah. It was a hyperbole. Or a hypotenuse. Or, uh. Some literary thing." 

He's sweet and funny and way too good for you. He'll leave when you tell him, you're sure of it. You'll just have to stall in giving him your story. As far as showing him the scar - never. Not ever, no way. Even imagining that makes you shudder.

It's just like they told you at the time. "With this, no one's gonna love you. They're gonna see what you are and they're gonna hate you, slut."

You put your hand over your scar and squeeze your eyes shut, leaning on his shoulder. After a moment, you smile. 

"I'm not gonna kill your cat, and please, don't die your hair pink again." 

He just smirks and you two continue to laugh at the unironic Blingees on his profile, and you haven't been this happy in years.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy! Sorry for not updating.

You and Dave start to hang out after school every day. He holds your hand at school and invites you to sit with him and his friends at lunchtime. You like his friends. They're all very different, but in general, it's a very nice group. Jade is really sweet. She talks to you a lot and you're very tempted to tell her about your scar and the incident, but you haven't yet. Of all your friends, you think she'd probably react the best. 

She wouldn't tell Dave, you think.

It's taken you awhile to decide whether or not you're going to tell Dave about your scar, and you've finally made your choice.

You won't tell him. 

He says he cares about you and he likes you and he loves being around you. He never pushes you to do things you don't want, and he kisses your forehead and holds you when you're feeling scared. He's the best thing in your life right now.

Still, you have no doubt that he'd leave if he knew. 

You're a freak, you're a fag, you're a fairy and a pathetic waste of space. This is not an opinion, it is a fact. 

Abraham Lincoln was born February 12, 1809 and you are a piece of trash. 

Those are both concrete, provable facts. 

Dave knows you're gay, but there's a big difference between being gay and being a fag. You are the latter, but Dave thinks you're the former. You'd like to keep it that way. 

Your dad _loves_ Dave. He's always stuffing cake in your boyfriend's face and Dave doesn't even mind. That kid has a sweet tooth like you've never seen. Dad can tell that he makes you happy, too, so he never hesitates when you ask if Dave can come over.

Dad's noticed that you've been eating and talking more and that makes him really happy. He thinks you're getting better, and really, you are. It's just not as much of a change as he thinks. 

The main difference is that you've learned how to smile again.

Dave says you have a cute smile and you're flattered, even though you don't agree. You suppose you may believe him eventually, but you highly doubt it. 

It's been six weeks since you two met in person. Time flies when you don't constantly hate yourself, you've found, and it's nearing Thanksgiving break. Dad invited Dee and his big brother over for Thanksgiving dinner because they've become almost like family over the past month. Dee only has his brother and his brother only has Dee. It's pretty much the same with you and Dad. 

When you told Dee about your mom, he almost cried. His parents died when he was seven, he said, so he sort of understood. You've never seen him get so worked up.

His brother was the only one there for him. "But now I got you, too," He said, wiping a tear from underneath his shades.

He probably didn't know how much that meant. Dave's proud to be with you. It isn't a secret. He needs you and god knows you need him too. He protects your mind more than anything else, because you don't really get picked on at your new school.

You're the weird, quiet kid who everyone thinks might sneak a gun on campus.

Dave's at your house on a chilly Tuesday afternoon when he asks why you never take your shirt off. "It's been cold," You say, rubbing your arms and pantomiming being frozen. Your teeth fake-chatter and you smile. "You don't take your shirt off, either, man." 

"I'll take mine off if you take yours off." He says finally, smirking all flirty and sweet. You just shake your head. "I bet you have a really cute chest, but no. Sorry."

He looks disappointed.

_he wouldn't be disappointed if he saw, he'd tell you to put the shirt back on, you're disgusting, freak, freak, freak,_

You rest your head on his lap and look up at him, smiling. "'S not that I don't trust you. I'm just... Not ready." At first, you worry that he's gonna think you're suggesting that taking off your shirts is equivalent to sex, but he doesn't. "Yeah, Blue. It's cool." Dee kisses you on the forehead and runs his fingers through his hair, moving one hand down to your chest. His palm rests over your scar and you fear that he'll feel it, but then he starts humming to the beat of your heart. "La da, la da, duh dum, bah dah, la dah, la da, buh dum,"

He just wanted to feel your heart beating and goddamn if that isn't the cutest thing you've ever seen. 

Your heart beats slow and steady and relaxed and he smiles, glad that he's able to make you so calm.

After a while, he moves his hand back into your hair and slowly massages your scalp. "Your hair's real soft, did you know that? Like a bunch of feathers, Bluejay." Dee lies down next to you and cups your face in his hands. "You know I'm still gonna think you're pretty no matter what, right, Blue?" 

You just shake your head, sighing softly. "I dunno, Dave. I'd rather you just not know, okay?" Dave looks a little annoyed, but he doesn't object. "Fine, man. That's fine. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. I'm not gonna lie, I'm curious as all hell about that pretty 'lil chest of yours..." Your body tenses with those words and he stops mid sentence, moving closer to you. "Babe, I ain't gonna force you into showin' me nothin' you don't want to." He's so sweet when you get scared. At first, it made you suspicious. It made you think he was trying to trick you.

That's another thing he's helped you with - trust. Jade and Karkat, his other friends, are pretty cool. You never would've trusted them without Dave's help, though. Karkat's kind of a dick and he scared you at first. His hair is black, like yours and Jade's, but his loud voice and constantly rude language frightened you. 

When you met him, you squeezed Dee's hand so hard he had a bruise the next day. He had to take Karkat aside to tell him to cool it down a little, and he was. very different the next time you saw him. 

One day it was "Hey, shitfucker. What the hell makes you special enough to sit with me and my lame-as-fuck 'friends'?" and the next it was "Oh, John. Hi." 

Karkat's voice strained when he spoke without vulgarity, and that made you laugh. You replied "Hey, doucheface." and he looked like he was going to explode. 

It was _hilarious._

You love your new friends and you love Dave, too. You're not going to tell him that, though. Right now, you just love him like you'd love a friend. It's slowly moving into romantic love territory, though, and that worries you a little. What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if your heart is moving too fast?

It's worries like these that come to mind when you're lying in bed with him and he's touches you, his fingertips running over your cheeks and back and arms. 

He tells you you're handsome and you shake your head. He insists, pointing out how gorgeous your eyes are and how soft and plump your lips are ("They're like a fucking sofa, dude," he murmurs, poking them with his pointer finger) and how cute your nose is.

Ever so slowly, he's starting to convince you.

Ever so slowly, he's making you better.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are there actually people who enjoy school dances?
> 
> Apparently, yes.

Ever since you were in elementary school, you've hated school dances. 

Maybe it was because of how loud and obnoxious everything and everyone was, maybe it was because of the shitty free food, or maybe it was because school dances just aren't that fun.

Sometimes, it dawns on you that there are probably people who _like_ school dances. Your old friends didn't and your ex-boyfriend never let you go with him, so you haven't really seen anybody enjoy a school dance. 

Your current boyfriend, however, loves them.

"I'm gonna DJ. You don't have to come, I mean, but it'd be really cool to have you there. It gets kinda loud but you could stay with me in the DJ booth and we could dance and you could borrow some earplugs, it's fine, I just, it'd be great to have you there." 

He sounds so excited and nervous when he asks you to go, taking both your hands in his and grinning. 

How can you say no to that?

Jade and Karkat and him are all getting ready together, he says, and do you want to come over early and hang out? You say yes, that would be wonderful, I'd like that a lot. 

Thanksgiving isn't really a 'school dance' occasion, you think, but the planning committee at your highschool doesn't seem to know that. 

You didn't pay much attention to the announcements regarding the dance. It was only when Dave asked you that you started eagerly listening, keeping your ears open for any new information. 

Against all odds, you're excited about this. Dave helps you pick out an outfit because you have no sense of style whatsoever, and you're so happy that you get the guts to text Rose a picture. Her girlfriend is a real fashion queen and you're ecstatic when she gives you a thumbs up.

It isn't like you're 100% better, but you're actually doing pretty well. 

The day of the dance, you go to Dave's house about two hours before Karkat and Jade are arriving. You're already dressed - changing in front of people is not a thing that you do -and Dave scoops you up in his arms the second you enter. 

"You look like a fuckin' prince," Dee says, kissing your cheek. He's still in his street clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but he looks like a king. A cute, dweeby king. That's a monarchy you could approve of.

Dave carries you up to his room and the two of you flop down on his bed, cuddling and kissing and chatting until your friends get here. When you finally hear a knock on the door, you reluctantly let Dave go to answer it. 

Both of your friends look great, Jade wearing a little makeup with curled hair and Karkat with his own mop of hair tamed and combed. He looks pretty unamused and you learn later that Jade had to tackle him down to brush it out, but it paid off. 

The four of you finish getting ready and get there early, so Dave can set up the DJ booth. "Just stay with me up there. I'll play whatever you want, okay?" He's quite open to your music tastes, but he refuses to let you play movie soundtracks besides the Ghostbusters theme. 

The whole time, everything had been so perfect that you felt it was inevitable that something horrible would happen. How couldn't it? Good things happen, sure, but not in such consecutive order. First you meet Dave. He accepts you, loves you, takes care of you and is also a great friend all at the same time. Dee makes you feel safe and _needed_ and that's all you could ever want.

_nobody's ever needed you before, nobody wanted you around, you are NOTHING without him, he is everything, you are nothing, he is the only thing keeping you alive and perhaps that isn't enough, you aren't enough,_

Dave pulls you up to the booth and out of your self-loathing stupor, his smile wide and his eyes shining beneath his shades. Every time you two are alone or partially alone, he either removes or lowers his shades so you can see his facial expressions in full. 

It's silly to say that his face is like no other but it is. It calms you down, even framed with yellow, yellow hair and light eyebrows and lashes. None of that bothers you anymore - not on him, anyway. Any other blond hair makes you cringe and shake, and you fear that won't ever go away.

Even so, the only thing you can think about right now is him. Dave, Dee, that light-haired angel that loves you and is _dancing_ with you, his hands on your hips and his breath soft on your neck. 

With one hand, he controls the computer and plays music on his turntables. The other is wrapped around you, holding you and swaying gently to the beat. Dave loaned you a pair of earplugs, good ones, so the noise isn't so bad. 

Just like before, you keep expecting something bad to happen. The hurt never comes, though. Not tonight. 

Dave plays 'How do I Live' as the last song, which you appreciate more than he knows. You kiss him hard, distracting him from the turntables long enough that he forgets to change records. The next song starts playing and Dee fumbles to change it. 

You all dance together a couple times, smiling and laughing and goofing off in the back of the cafeteria. It's actually fun. Since your boyfriend is the DJ, everyone's nice to all of you for fear of passing him off and making him play really weird songs. It's like musical blackmail.

The dance is over at around ten-thirty, and the four of you disperse to your respective homes. You and Dave stick together though, both heading to his apartment for a sleepover.

In a couple days, it'll be Thanksgiving and he'll be at your house instead. You, Dave, and your guardians will all eat together and talk and you are _so excited you can hardly stand it._ For the first time since Mom died, you and your dad have a family that isn't just each other.

You and Dave settle into bed, your ears still ringing from earlier. When you mention how scared you were at first, Dee squeezes you close and smiles, hushing you gently. "Told you it'd be fine. No yellow-haired assholes fucking with you, either." Laughing at him, you kiss him on the lips and trail your hands under his shirt and over his back.

He's so warm, so soft, the peach-fuzz hairs on his back tickling your fingertips. Dave does the same to you, his hands creeping beneath your pajama shirt and over your back, then around to your chest, and

 

and his hands stop over your scar. 

His hands stop and he stops, frigid and still with his hands on you.

Dave's mouth gapes open as he touches your chest and you're _too terrified to move or breathe or stir._

_ he hates you, he knows, his fingertips are tracing over every letter and reading it, he's reading you, he knows what's wrong with you and he knows what a pathetic little shit you are _

You look at him and he looks at you and just as he's about to speak, everything goes

black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're okay.

You only stay passed out for a moment or two, but it feels like an eternity to Dave. He worries he broke you, triggered you, made you feel useless and horrible like you did when the two of you first met. _But it's not his fault,_ you think, slowly opening your eyes. _All of this is my fault._ You have little to no doubt that he'll agree with your scar. You're a faggot and a loser and you deserve to die and he's going to hit you and then he's going to leave.

You fully expect to open your eyes and see that he's gone, hiding in the bathroom in disgust. He'll tell you to leave once you're well enough, to get out of his house.

When your eyes do open, the first thing you see is him.

It's just his hair, actually, white and pale in the darkness of his bedroom. Dee's holding you close, rubbing your back and hushing you softly. He's shaking and crying and you've never seen him _break_ like this. It frightens you. Finally, he notices that you're back, you're conscious and he pulls away to look at you. 

"I'm so sorry."

It's unclear whether he's sorry this happened to you or sorry he found out. Of course, he had no way of knowing that touching your chest would devastate you so much. 

For most couples, the touching of one another's chest is a way of showing affection. Chests are hidden, though not secret - but even seeing or feeling something that someone is hiding is an intimate act.

You doubt he knew how intimate and serious it would be in your case.

At the moment, you're too scared to speak. He hasn't left, which is good, and he fills the silence with a short monologue.

"You were so scared when I first saw you, John, and I knew instantly that I wanted to change that. At first I just wanted to be your friend. I loved your silly shirts and your big, pretty blue eyes, so I snuck that note in your backpack so you'd talk to me. I remember hearin' that you 'hated people' and you especially hated us blondies, so I knew I had to stay far away from you. But I figured, I can stay far away an' still get close emotionally, so I stayed up late texting you and I was on my phone so much that Bro thought I was gettin' cyberbullied." 

"I was so nervous when I decided to talk to you, but that was still one of the best days of my whole life. God, I was so scared when you got all panicky. Thought I'd killed you. But then you woke up and we just sat on that cot for hours and man, it wasn't what I expected but I know I didn't mind." Dave lets out a content sigh as he reminisces, thinking over the past few months. "This whole thing is different from what I expected but still totally great."

He kisses your forehead and smoothes the hair out of your eyes. All you can do is look up at him and flash a weak, yet genuine smile. "I don't know who did this or why or how, but I do know that I'm not gonna let anybody hurt you anymore. Part of me is angry at whoever hurt you and part of me is just crushed that an angel like you had to deal with this, but most of me just wants to take you under my metaphorical wing and feed you bird food or something." That makes you laugh and he smiles wide before continuing. "I ain't gonna leave. You're my boyfriend, John, and I love you to pieces."

There's nothing you can do but melt in his arms, happy to just be held by him. He's said 'I love you' before, but something about this time felt different. It felt more real, and maybe that's because it's only now setting in that you're okay.

You're getting better, holy shit, you're gonna be okay.

There was a time in your life, a time before Dee, when you thought the sadness wouldn't go away. Back before all the violence and the hurt, you were just some nerdy, happy kid who stayed up late trying to download French computer games and texting your friends for good links. After the attack, you didn't do anything. You just wrote stories about ghosts and aliens and then erased it all and wrote a new one and did the whole thing again.

You didn't want to create or destroy, you wanted to be nothing. 

Your brain isn't synced up with your voice yet, so the only thing you can say is "I love you too, Dee, so so much," before you just go back to smiling and shaking your head in disbelief. 

He asks 'what now' and you help decide on a movie to watch. _School of Rock_ plays in the background as the two of you talk and cuddle, his fingertips slowly tracing over your scar. When he touches it, you feel real. He's really here, he's really staying, he doesn't think you're disgusting or freaky. 

Dave loves you and you love him and you both laugh at Jack Black's silly jokes and baby Miranda Cosgrove and god, you're just way too happy for any of this to be real.

 

Then you wake up.

 

Not from a happy, cliché fever dream where everything is okay, though. No, you simply drifted off during the movie.

Got you there, didn't I?

Dave says that you're cute when you sleep and you just punch his arm and call him a creep. He responds by kissing you on the nose, his morning movements sleepy and aimless as his teeth connect with your forehead. He's quick to apologize and kiss your face to make up for the accident, which you very much appreciate.

His brother's made you 'breakfast', which is just frozen Toaster Strudels covered in ice and frosting. Seems he forgot the 'toaster' part and decided to focus more on 'strudel'.

Your boyfriend informs you that he does this every Sunday and they aren't that bad frozen, actually.

The frost on your tongue wakes you up, your nose scrunching in response to just how cold your face is now. 

"My mouth is cold," You whine, pouting like a child. Dave chimes that he could "y'know, warm it up for you," and his lips are on yours before you can protest.

It's warm and cold and neutral all at the same time, which is a lot like what you're feeling. Your confidence level is outstanding and you know your therapist would approve.

Even better, you approve of yourself and what your brain is doing. For once,it isn't screwing you over.

Life isn't screwing you over, either. In fact, it seems to have decided to give you some happiness.

You're incredibly grateful for the gift, regardless of how late it is.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is John Egbert and you might be better, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five months later, she posts a chapter.  
> sorry, y'all.

You're ridiculously happy. It doesn't make sense, really, and it doesn't fit in the grand scheme of things. People like you aren't supposed to be happy.

Recently, though, it's begun to dawn on you that maybe everyone should be able to be happy. Everyone around you always seems giddy and filled to the brim with joy _all the fucking time._ Of course, your perception of their happiness may be because you've been so sad for so long. Nearly any amount of contentment looks better than what your depression once was.

Dave's helped you realize that you don't have to be sad. It isn't a requirement, that is, for John Egbert to hate waking up in the morning. You, as well as everyone else, deserve a chance for that unfathomable joy that you've envied so much for so long. Those boys didn't take away your happiness permanently. 

They can't touch you anymore. _They cannot hurt you,_ you remember your therapist saying. 

They are nothing to you. Once, they were titans, hugely powerful figures whom no one could ever hope to defeat. Now, they are worms.

You pity worms and you pity them. 

Now when you walk into school, you are excited. You look forward to learning about science and art and language and history. This world is far more exciting than you ever knew, and all you want to do is learn about it. 

You learn about the Watergate scandal, about the lesser-known figures of the civil rights movement, about the difference between Manet and Renoir, about how the Earth and planets were formed. You learn about the moon and spend hours staring at it one night with Dave, wondering aloud if anyone ever lived there and being listened to rather than mocked. You wonder if the word 'faggot' exists in other dimensions, if people or aliens or whatever still do hateful things like that on their planets. While you definitely hope that those things are exclusive to Earth, you have a feeling they aren't. 

Still, you're starting to learn that the world is far prettier than you ever thought. Dave is beautiful, Jade is beautiful, hell, even Karkat is beautiful. Everything has the potential to be perfect, you just didn't see it.

Dave teaches you things, too. He shows you the basics of making a mashup and the two of you laugh much harder than you should at a mix between the Space Jam theme and Kanye West's 'Gold Digger'. The beat doesn't match up and overall, it sounds pretty terrible, but it's still great. Dave says you're a natural DJ and you just laugh. 

Whenever you laugh like that, Dave gives you this look. It's kind of hard to describe, really. His eyes crinkle and the corners of his mouth turn up as he takes a deep breath in. It's his _'I love you so fucking much'_ look. 

Dave isn't at school today but you're alright. He's just home sick, he isn't abandoning you, he isn't leaving forever. You know that your boyfriend loves you and is loyal, so you don't worry. 

He texts you and invites you over after school, asking if you wanna maybe bring him over some tea from Starbucks and 'a cute nerd for me to smooch idk just hit up the chess club and find somebody k' 

An easy task. Jade offers to go with you, but you know she has gardening club after school and you can handle yourself. The walk to Starbucks is really short and you make it there without an issue. Oh, your ex-boyfriend is the barista, okay, sure, let's just order and  
 _wait just a fucking minute._

That's him. That's your ex, that's Aaron, that's the guy who ruined your fucking life and now he's going to make your best friend's tea.

No.   
No no. No.  
No.

You feel your chest tighten and you thought he lived far away you thought he lived back where you used to live _back in that place you ran away from_ why is he here why is he

"Hi, what can I get you?"

The last time he spoke to you he was sitting next to your bed in the hospital telling you he never really loved you, not like you loved him.

You try to talk. The words your therapist told you are running through your head but a lot of them are lies, now. She told you he was far away and he couldn't hurt you but what if he slips poison into Dave's tea, what if he follows you home and beats you, what if, what if, what if,

You tug at the hair on the back of your neck.

"Uh, you ready to order?" 

Tall chamomile tea, hot as possible, two pumps of raspberry. That's all you have to say. That's all you should say.

That's not what you say.

"Do you know who I am?"

He gives you a look before shaking his head. "Someone who doesn't know what he wants to order?" Aaron laughs a little, obviously confused. 

Meanwhile, your heart is gone. It didn't break, it's just gone. Straight out the window. Or the door. Or the anything.

Fuck, you aren't thinking straight. 

Your jaw drops and your mouth opens and closes like a fish. Aaron is still staring at you, confused, but you can't say anything. "I'm sorry, I," You sputter, apologizing again for something that _isn't your fault, your therapist says it isn't your fault, it isn't my fault,_

"Tall chamomile tea, hot as possible, two pumps of raspberry." You manage, voice quiet and shaky.

He writes it on a cup. "Name?"

"John."

"John?" He repeats it, staring at the cup before looking up at you. Aaron's eyes are wide for a moment before he speaks. 

_ does he remember you? _

You pull out a few strands of hair on the back of your head.

"Yeah, sorry, bro. Still don't know you. That'll be $3.80." 

You pay with exact change, get the tea, and leave before you get the urge to pour boiling water all over your arm. It's a challange not to get hair in the tea because you haven't pulled this much is months and you're pretty sure you'll be half bald by the time you get to his apartment.

Your name is John Egbert and you used to think you were better.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In sickness and in health.

You take the tea over to Dave's apartment, taking extra care not to spill it. The second you see him, curled up in bed, you realize something wonderful.

He doesn't scare you.

Maybe it's just because he's sick, maybe it's because his hair is hidden, but you're fairly certain it's because you know he'd never hurt you. 

But as soon as you start believing that he won't cause you harm, your mind becomes fearful, doubting your previous thought.  
He'd never hurt you, right? Dave loves you, right? You touch his shoulder to wake him up, hoping to god that your lack of fear doesn't change once he's awake. What if he opens his eyes and he doesn't like what he sees? What if he suddenly decides, in his feverish point of view, that he doesn't love you anymore?

Sometimes people are more honest when they're delirious and you know he could look at you and say something he's never said before. In your anxious, self-loathing mind, you think there's at least a 50/50 chance that he'll look at you and gasp in disgust. Of course, he could just thank you for the tea and chat with you for a bit. 

50/50.

He opens his eyes and they immediately widen, jaw dropping. Your worst fears are coming true. Before you can beg for mercy, he speaks, more honestly than you've ever heard. 

"I dreamt you were a bird, and when you texted me, I wondered how you could type with wings." He smiles, eyes glassy. He smells like Vapo-rub and Kleenex. "I'm glad you're not a bird. You're a lot cuter like this." 

That's not what you expected. You fight the urge to hug him tight, knowing there's far more than a 50/50 chance he'd puke on you if you did that. Instead, you wipe your eyes with your sleeve and pet his hair. "You think so? I think I'd be a nice bird. What did I look like?" 

Dave takes your hand and places it on his cheek. He's burning up. "You smell good." Not exactly the answer you were looking for, but you'll take it. You try to respond but you suddenly realize that you cannot say the same to him. 

As tired as he looks, he keeps talking. "You smell like bords." You give him a confused look, and he explains. "Bords are Jewish birds." You have to wonder if the word 'bord' has anything to do with Judaism. After a quick Google search, you find that no, it's just nonsense. "My grandmother is Jewish. Maybe that's why." He nods in agreement. "Yeah. Nice old lady bord." Dave looks very proud of himself and you give him a thumbs up.

You wish you could talk to him about what happened, but just chatting with him is helping. After taking his temperature, you find that his fever is 101.3. That's too high. You start to pull the blankets down but he stops you. "John! I'm in my underwear. I don't want you to see my underwear, you're a bird. Birds are allergic to underwear." This is just silly. Huffing, you stand up and unbutton your jeans just enough for him to see that, shocker, you're wearing underwear. He thinks it over and finally lets you take the blankets off. 

Dave maybe a complete and total dweeb, but he's the best boyfriend in the entire world. Being with him like this, in what may be his weakest state, shows you just how precious he is. Not in a 'Precious Angels' way like those ugly statues at the Hallmark store, but in the precious gemstones way. He's rare, valuable, and worth everything to you. Even now, when he's coughing on you and most likely giving you Swine Flu (thanks, babe), you adore him. 

He catches you staring and covers his face with his hands. "Why are you looking at me? Do I look weird? Am I a bird, too? I don't wanna be a bird!" Apparently worried he's upset you, he clarifies. "No offense. I like birds. Just not for me." You pet his hair. "No, no. It's okay, you aren't a bird. I'm not either. I am also not a bord." 

It takes him a little while to believe that you aren't a bird (or a bord) but when he does, his face lights up. "You're my _boyfriend!_ "  
He looks pleasantly surprised. You kiss his forehead and nod. As much as you love Dave when he's healthy, sick Dave is kind of hilarious. He studies your face for a moment before sighing and flopping back on the bed. "Would you still love me if I was a gnome?" He asks, worry in his eyes. Shit, he's on a roll today. You feel like you should be filming this so he can laugh about it later so you take out your phone and set it up so the camera is facing both of you. "Yes," You respond, pressing an ice pack to his forehead. "Yes, I would. I mean, I'm pretty weird and sad myself. You still love me." 

Dave frowns and sits up again, wrapping his arms around your middle. "Why are you sad, Egbird?" Whoa, that was a good one. You should see if that Tumblr URL is taken. "Did you fall? Did you break your wing?" You smile a little, shaking your head. "Nah. I've just had bad things happen to me in the past. You help a lot, though." When you say he helps, his face lights up in a smile. He seems proud of himself. "I dunno how to fix a wing but I would figure it out if I needed to. For you." In this delirious state, he's strangely poetic. "That's sweet, Dave. Thank you."

The room gets quiet for a moment as the two of you sit in silence, thinking about the current problems in your respective lives. Finally, Dave speaks. "I never told you this, but. My middle name is Dean." Where did that come from? You tilt your head and laugh a little. "That's a nice name. Why do you keep it a secret?" He shakes his head sadly and grabs a piece of paper, writing something down and then showing it to you. It says:

david dean strider  
↓ ↓  
↓ that ghost show with the angel guy whos funny on twitter apparently  
david tennant from fucking whos the doctor

Oh my god, your boyfriend's name is Superwholock. The Sherlock part is your fault - _John_ \- which just makes it funnier. "Dave, holy shit." You suddenly forget all about seeing Aaron at the coffee shop and all you can think about is Dave. David Dean. That kind of sounds like a pornstar name. "If you were royalty, you'd be Duke David Dean. Triple Ds, Dave. That's a lot of D." He covers his face with his hands. "No, no more D. You're gonna turn me gay." He says that totally seriously but a second later his eyes snap open. "Oh! It's too late, huh?" 

You kiss his forehead. "Way too late. You're a lost cause, dude. Not straight at all. Sorry." Dave shrugs, leaning against you and letting you hold him. "Ah, 's okay. I don't mind. If I wasn't gay, I wouldn't get to kiss you. I like kissing you." 

Okay, fuck not getting sick. You kiss him on the mouth, hand on the back of his neck. As soon as you pull away, he sneezes on your face. "Shit, baby, sorry. If you get sick, I promise I'll help. I'll call a bird doctor, okay?" You just shake your head, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.

It was worth it.  
It was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and all was well (except dave's sinuses)


End file.
